He was hustled out of the gallery. Lockwood had never before met the hostility of a mob. It is something that cows and crushes the spirit. He lost his head; he tried stumblingly to tell his story as they were shoving him down the steps. Nobody paid him any attention. His words sounded weak even to himself. He saw a man carrying a heap of loose rope over his arm.
At that moment Hanna came hastily out from the rear hall, wearing hat and leggings, and carrying a rifle. At sight of Lockwood he stopped dead, a sort of wild amazement on his face, changing to a fire of victory and vindictiveness. He crowded forward close to the prisoner.
“Where’d you get him?” he exclaimed. “He didn’t come here himself?” He thrust his face close up to Lockwood’s. “Thought you played a sharp trick!” he said in a piercing undertone. “But I knew I’d beat you! I’ve got you on the end of a rope now—you fool!”
Lockwood faced those malevolent eyes, and their fierce exultation whipped his scattered wits together.
“Listen, all of you men!” he shouted. “This is the man that killed Jackson—this Hanna here. He was ambushed by the river; he fired four shots. I saw him as plain as I do now. What lie has he told you?”
“Tell him. Tell him, Hanna. Let him hear what’s agin’ him,” said two or three voices.
“Well, I was ambushed there sure enough,” said Hanna easily. “I’d seen Jackson starting down the river road in the car with this fellow, and I guessed he was up to no good. So I got a horse and rode after them. You-all saw me go,” nodding to Tom and his father. “I wasn’t long behind ’em, but I wasn’t quick enough. Just as I came to the landing this fellow shot Jackson twice in the back, and slung his body straight into the river.
“I yelled and emptied my gun at him. Looks like I touched him, too, for he slipped or jumped into the river himself. I couldn’t see anything of either of ’em. It was pitch dark. I got on my horse and rode back here quick as I could to get some men out. I left the car. I reckon it’s there yet. I ought to have brought it, but I was badly rattled. I guess that’s proof enough to hang him, ain’t it?”
“Proof?” echoed Lockwood, with the energy of final desperation. “It’s his word against mine. That man would do anything—he’d swear to anything, to put me out of the way. I know too much about him—I’ve been after him too long—I’ve got evidence to send him to prison for the rest of his life, and he knows it.
“Do you know who this man is, Henry Power, and you, Tom? He’s a professional criminal, a crook, a confidence man. I’ve got his record. He’s been bleeding you ever since he’s been here, charging you double for everything you bought, planning to get your last cent with his fake oil stock. I found out all about that oil stock. Telephone to Mobile before you doubt me. It isn’t the first time he’s played this game. It’s his trade.”